


Bittersweet

by Multishipper13



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11056290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multishipper13/pseuds/Multishipper13
Summary: It was just a normal mission: find, obtain and destroy a source. Nothing can go wrong, right?





	1. Chapter 1

_It was supposed to be a regular case. Find and contain the source. It was a large, derelict mansion, barely standing, but it was owned by a wealthy, if a bit eccentric, old man who kept the building because it was his ancestral home. "So, Mr. Wibigon, what sorts of psychic phenomenon have been reported?" Holly Munroe, Lockwood & Co.'s assistant asked the client. Though she herself did have a decent psych talent, she rarely, if ever, used it, leaving the job to the two more talented agents, A. J. Lockwood, owner of Lockwood & Co., and Lucy Carlyle, the spirited and(in Lockwood's opinion, anyway)beautiful agent with the best Listening abilities this side of the universe. Someday, Lockwood swore to himself, when they both had gotten to old to be agents anymore, he was going to get down on his knees and- Focus he reprimanded himself severely. He could think about that later. Right now, though, he needed to focus on the job at hand. The quicker they could get through this case, the quicker that they could be back at 35, Portland Row, sipping their tea and talking about things other than the Visitors. Right now though, they needed to locate the Visitors' Source. For some reason, Holly had looked distinctly pale when she heard about that particular case, but Lockwood couldn't help but be slightly suspicious, even though he knew he had no evidence to suggest that Holly was untrustworthy. The man in question, Harold James Wibigon squinted at Holly through his heavily lidded eyes. Lockwood suppressed a snort. Clearly, the old man needed glasses, though he probably refused to buy a pair because of the ridiculous rumors claiming that Visitors would be attracted to reflective surfaces. Absolute hogwash and rubbish, as any experienced agent knew. "The night watch kids have been reporting strange noises and a couple of them say they've been seen a ghost-girl. They say she throws things about and that silver, iron and lavender don't do any good." Holly nodded, scribbling it all down into a note-pad. Finally, Lucy appeared, holding an ornate tray on which sat three steaming cups of tea. Lucy wore her black agent's clothes, but around her neck dangled a necklace of bronze links, and a small picture of a lily encased in glass. "Tea, Lockwood?" Lucy asked, shaking him out of his stupor. "Oh, em, yes please." Lockwood said. Lucy threw him an odd look; Lockwood swore under his breath. He never stuttered, not even as a small child. "Well," he clapped his hands together, "We'd better get started."_   
_\--_   
_A little while after they'd entered the building, Lockwood heard a thump behind him. He ignored it thinking that it was probably just one of the duffle bags. When he did turn around though, he was confronted with a scene so unbelievable, he had to blink twice. Lucy was gaged, her wrists bound and Holly was holding a rapier to her neck, her form glowing with Other-Light. It suddenly clicked. Holly was the Visitor. "Let her go." Lockwood growled. "Well, I can't let her go just like that. I am willing to exchange her for something, though." Holly laughed cruelly. "Anything." he agreed quickly. Lucy shook her head frantically, saying something that was muffled by the fabric that was gaging her. "Hmm...let me think," Holly examined her manicured nails casually. "How about...you duel me with rapier?" Holly smirked, "After all, you could beat me in a trifle." Lockwood knew that it had to be a trap, but anger drove him to agree. "What are your terms?" He asked. "If I win I kill her," Holly paused, "And if I win?" Lockwood prompted. "If you win, she goes free." "Alright. When do we start?" "Now" Holly lunged at him, and Lockwood blocked, instinctively calculating her next move and reacting with a downward thrust and jab. Finally, Lockwood ended their duel by hooking his rapier under Holly's and with a flick of the wrist, he disarmed her. He immediately bounded over to Lucy, hastily unbinding her and removing the gag, and pulling her to her feet. "Bronze." Lucy whispered, shoving her necklace into his hands before her eyes widened and she yelled, "Duck!" Lockwood tumbled to the floor and sat up just in time to see a silvery hand wrap around her throat, and she crumpled, eyes already dull, the flame that usually resided there extinguished. It hit him like a tidal wave. Lucy was dead. Lockwood let out roar and tossed the only thing he was holding at Holly; the bronze necklace. Her form sputtered and disappeared, but Lockwood couldn't have cared less. Lucy was dead, and he'd never even told her how much he'd cared for her._


	2. Chapter 2

I sat at my desk, reading a report from a type to case. It had been six months since-no, I didn't want to think about that. It was to painful. Lockwood & Co. had grown quiet successful in the past six months, and now it was so large that it rivaled Fittes, in size and talent. We had since become a famous agency, hiring more than Rottwell, and our Talents where unparalleled. Agents from Fittes, Atkin and Armstong, and Tendy and Sons(to name a few)where flocking by the dozens on a daily basis to become part of the best Psych Agency in Britan. Though I was happy my agency was growing, it also meant I got stuck with a desk job, sorting through application forms in my office. I quickly skimmed over the information in a file entitled Maria Evans, and grabbed a stamp from in front of me, quickly marking the file Declined-Insufficient Talent and put it in a box that would be delivered to the offices downstairs, leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on my desk. I must admit, there are certain upsides to being the head of an agency. A cool breeze blew through the window, ruffling the leaves and petals of my potted lilies. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a scarlet bookend and froze. Scarlet had been _her_ favorite color. My hands shaking slightly, I picked up the bookend and tossed it into the trash-can standing in the corner. A knock on my door caused me to miss, and I cursed colorfully before calling out "Come in!" A petit girl, of about thirteen years entered nervously. I instantly assumed it was bad news. "Well, Mr. Lockwood, sir, there's been a grave robbery at," she swallowed, then continued, "At Highgate Cemetery, and Mr. Cubbins thought you might be interested!" she squeaked, throwing a file at my desk and dashed out as if pursued by a Raw-Bones. Damit. This wasn't a good sign. Usually employees didn't run away from me, which meant it had to bee _really_ bad news. Well, I figured I'd better get it over with. Sighing, I opened the file and flipped through a few pages of George's usual-and then what the girl had said finally struck me. _Highgate._ I rushed to the end of the file, and was confronted with a news clipping. **_Highgate Cemetery Grave Robbery_** it read in bold black letters, and I prayed that it wasn't what I though it was. I quickly read the DEPRAC statement. It had been _her_ grave. Rage bubbled up inside of me, threatening to burst out any instant, like a river of lava. I read on, learning that the grave-robbers had only taken one thing: Her necklace. My vision went red, and I had to grip the table to keep myself from smashing something. How _dare_ they?! I'd hunt them down and make them pay for defiling her grave. I spat at the floor. When I found them, they would pay, I vowed. My thoughts where interrupted as the door opened and George walked, carrying a tray of tea in fine china tea-cups. One look at my face told him _exactly_ how I felt, apparently, because he quickly set down the tray and backed out of the room. I sipped at my tea, my tightly clutching fingers constantly in danger of breaking the fine china tea-cup. I felt so _angry_ , so _furious_ I couldn't think. Presently, it occurred to me I couldn't track down someone I'd never seen. _I_ didn't know who the grave robber was, but I knew someone who might. Flo Bones.


	3. Chapter 3

I snagged my long black coat, the one with the claw-marks from the Bickerstaff case, when Lucy'd- _Shut up!_ I yelled at the part of my mind that insisted on dredging up the most painful memories. I stepped out of Lockwood  & Co.'s headquarters, and was instantly hounded by the press. Let me tell you, being one of the two most famous people in Britain wasn't fun(at least, when the press was involved), by any stretch of the mind. I cursed myself for forgetting to disguise myself properly. I gave the reporters a blinding smile, hopping that it would sate them. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side today. "Mr. Lockwood, what do you think of the grave robbery at Highgate?" one reporter asked, and my smile grew noticeably fixed. I gritted my teeth and turned up my smile to a dazzling 350%, and said, "This is a dark age we live in, relic-men defiling graves and Visitors turning up at every corner. But you need not fear. We agents are working hard to discover the Source of the Problem. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have a rather important meeting to get to. Good day." I quickly left, taking shortcuts and dodging into darkened alleys to make sure I'd lost my "tail". I let out an internal whoop of joy. Technically, I hadn't lied; it was an important meeting(for me, anyway), but the idiots had thought I meant Penelope/Marissa Fittes. I could not tell you how long I walked for, for it seemed like an eternity, and yet also no time at all. All I can tell you though, is that after some time, I was talking with Flo, the smell of the Thames filling my lungs. Apparently, there had been rumors of a bronze necklace to be auctioned at a relic-mens'["And women's!"] meeting, the time and place of which Flo would not divulge of until bribed with a large packet of assorted liquorish.

Back at home, 35 Portland Row, after a strong cup of tea, I crashed into bed, not even bothering with the lights, and fell into a restless sleep. In one of my dream(nightmare actually. Also the only one I can remember), I was standing in a place remarkably like the true Screaming Staircase of Combe Carey Hall. In front of me, Lucy stood, her eyes glassed with Ghost-Lock. I knew, from the first time around(Lord, it had been hard to think with that screaming), that the Visitors where tempting her with promises for the screaming to end, if only she would just step of the edge and into the well. I wanted to yell, to do _something_ to snap her out of it, but I was frozen, forced to watch, as Lucy stepped of the edge, and plummeted down, down, down. It was only then that I was able to move, and screamed in anguish, my voice adding to the others in the well and-  
I woke, drenched in sweat, and stumbled down to the kitchen, making myself a cup of Turkish Coffee , and glanced at the clock. It read 2:15 am. Fantastic. I'd gotten roughly an hour and a half of sleep. While I was no stranger to insomnia, in the past I had been able to manage four hours of sleep. Nowadays, though, I was lucky if I got two. I only had half an hour to give DEPRAC an anonymous tip-of for a relic-mens' meeting at three, get to said meeting, retrieve the necklace before DEPRAC arrived and get back. I downed my coffee in one gulp **(1)** , grabbed my sharpest, most durable rapier(black), and a change of black clothes, and a nondescript black knee length jacket(with a hidden compartment for the rapier), left a note for George, and left. - Damit. It was 3:02 am, and I was running just as fast as I could, trying to avoid the relic-men who where chasing me. Long story short, I got the necklace, but accidentally revealed my presence to the relic-men, resulting in a very-early-morning chase. I hailed a Night Cab, hurriedly gave the location, and prayed that the relic-men would be caught soon by DEPRAC. As soon as we arrived, I hopped out, paid the driver, and unlocked the door. I entered, stepping lightly as to avoid the creaky floor boards, set the necklace down on the Thinking Cloth and went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When I turned around, I quite nearly jumped out my skin, for there, sitting at the table was Lucy Carlyle, doodling on the Thinking Cloth.

* * *

  
**(I was** _**so** _ **tempted to end the chapter here, but I don't think it would be fair to you guys.)**

* * *

**  
**"Fetch!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, hopping George would hear me, as I had left my rapier on the table, and the iron, silver, lavender, magnesium flairs, chains where in the basement. I began hyperventilating, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the floor, pain blooming from the left side of my jaw. "Lockwood, you idiot." Lucy said, "Do I _look like a ghost to you?_ " At this point, George saw fit to appear, though he reacted to Lucy better than I had. "Oh, hello Lucy. Nice punch." I stood up and rubbed my jaw gingerly. "Hey!" I protested, giving him a glare, "What am I, chopped lived?" "Yes!" Lucy and George chorused. "This is so surreal," I said. "This is a dream. Lucy's dead, George is sleeping, and I'm dreaming." I said, resulting in a definitely-real punch on the other side of my jaw, courtesy of Lucy. "Can you stop doing that?" I asked, annoyed at being used as a punching bag. "No," Lucy said, punching me again. This time though, she leaned in, pressing her lips against mine. That was the last thing I remember, before I fainted of surprise.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up, and for one blissful moment, everything was right in the world. Then, reality insisted on taking control of my mind again, and I yelped as I remembered the events that had taken place before I'd fainted. Good Lord, that girl could punch _hard_! Speak of the devil(or deviless, in this case), Lucy appeared, carrying a tray of tea. "You're dead." I stated hoarsely. Lucy arched a slender eyebrow. "Do I look dead to you, Lockwood?" she asked, "Death glows, Other-Light, aversion to iron, lavender, silver or running water? No?" I shook my head mutely. "Tea, or coffee?" "Coffee." I said, and we lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. "Actually, that might be a bit misleading." Lucy said, "Technically, I am dead." "But you just said you weren't." I pointed out, confused. "It's complicated." she sighed, sipping her tea. "So, basically, there are these weak spots, through which Visitors can appear. Well, that's not completely true. It's usually a weak spot through which Types One, Two and Three appear. The wider the weak spot, the stronger the ghost. Now, in very rare cases, you get an actual hole. That's when things get...complicated. See, most ghosts have an aversion to salt, iron, and lavender because the weak spot only allows for small strands of the spirit to pass through. When you have an actual hole, though, it allows for the _whole_ spirit to pass into the land of the living. Those spirits are immune to the usual techniques. The only thing that works is bronze. That's why I'm not wearing the necklace." "Ahh." I said, "Why'd you punch me?" Lucy shrugged,"It was the only thing I could think of to get you to snap out of it." I contemplated her answer for a minute, then asked something that that had been bothering me for six months,"How'd you know about the bronze thingy before you-""-Died?I was reading up on Type Threes in the archives when I stumbled across some notes by someone named Lucifer Lockwood detailing a whole new Type of Visitor and their weaknesses. A relation of yours, perhaps?" I shook my head, making a mental note to look Lucifer Lockwood up. "Not that I know of, no." then George, who had been eavesdropping, made his presence known by rapidly asking about the Other Side. Lucy laughed, a tinkling, wind-chime-like sound, and launched into a story, and I attempted sneak off to the kitchen to get some ice for my injured jaw, but was immediately pushed back to the armchair by Lucy, who pecked me on the cheek lightly(George teased me about my dazed expression and the blush creeping up my neck), admonished me, saying that if I could wait survive the Screaming Staircase, I could wait until she was finished with her story to get some ice, to which I retaliated by pretending to read my newest issue of True Hauntings. I began drifting off, occasionally catching snippets of the conversation. "...They address everyone by tittle, mine was...Knotvile on the Prairie...tea...which reminds me of the time...looks like he's fallen asleep...I wonder if..."

Later, I woke in my bed, the early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, a wonderful aroma drifting up from the dining room. George must've made breakfast, waffles, I'd guess. I made my way down the stairs, and, lo and behold, there on the dining room table sat a stack of steaming waffles. Neither George nor Lucy(still getting used to her being alive) where anywhere to be seen so I sat down, and served myself a few waffles. When I finished, I went to deposit my plate in the sink, and saw, to my surprise, a piece of...cake? Dark chocolate, to be precise. Next to it, there was a not reading;

Dear Lockwood,

George and I've gone to get some extra supplies. There's maple syrup in the refrigerator, and don't forget to check in the rapier room for a little surprise. George'll be back by quarter-past nine. I should be back by half-past, but I might be a little late as I have something I need to pick up from Arif's.

love, Lucy

P.S. Eat your cake, there's a good boy.

P.P.S. The ironing board(the one with wheels) might be a bit battered. You'll just have to use the other one. Also, clean your room. It's a mess, papers everywhere, and don't forget to run water over your dishes.

I was baffled at the letter, but went down into the basement regardless. A large package awaited me at the bottom of the steps, covered in dark blue wrapping paper. I picked it up, weighing it in my hands. I felt puzzled, wondering what was in it, so I began unwrapping it, carefully unsticking the tape, until I was left with a smallish, brown box. I lifted the lid, and from inside the box peered a silver and gold-flecked face with two bright green eyes, before a small bundle of fur pounced on me. "Mrow!" I instantly melted; Lucy'd discovered my weakness-cats. "I'll name you Fern." I decided. Fern seemed to agree with my decision, for she rubbed her head against my hand. I spied a card among the wrapping paper addressed to me. It read-

Dear Lockwood,

call this a late Birthday present.

-L

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha. Lucy is dead. I'm sorry(but not really).Don't you worry though. This is not the last/only chapter. Life will go on, and Lucy might even come back. As to Holly, you where probably thinking "What?", So here's my 3 part explanation: A) I hated her from the moment she was introduced in the Whispering Skull. B) If you're wondering about the bronze, that I added myself. Holly is a Type Four(also my invention). Type Fours can retain a human form for an extended amount of time, and they can control their ghostly symptoms, such as Other Light, and Ghost Touch, for about 99.98% of the time. And C) As to why I had her kill Lucy, well, it needed to happen for future events to take place. Don't worry, as Lucy won't stay dead forever(I'm not that evil), but you probably won't see her until chapter 3 or 4. Also, the story will be told from Lockwood's point of view, as I fell that we don't get to really see him much in the books, so doing this should give you a bit of insight on what I believe he might be like. As to their ages, Lockwood is about 17 3/4 in this chapter, and Lucy has just turned 17. In the next chapter, Lockwood will be about 18 1/4, give or take. Also, in this story, agents do not loose their psych Talents until around the ages of 20 and 21, so Lockwood had at least 2 more years to go.


End file.
